


Something

by seasidesunset



Series: Strange Flesh [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Dirty Talk, Episode: s05e04 The End, Established Relationship, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Verbal Abuse, Voyeur Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasidesunset/pseuds/seasidesunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Dean lets Castiel watch sometimes. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean won’t fuck actually Cas anymore, hasn’t for a while. But he’s allowed to watch sometimes, if Dean’s feeling generous.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something

Dean lets Castiel watch sometimes.

Dean won’t fuck actually Cas anymore, hasn’t for a while. But he’s allowed to watch sometimes, if Dean’s feeling generous.

There are rules. Cas can’t be too drunk or high at the time. He has to at least be conscious and cognizant. He can’t touch Dean at all, or make too much noise, unless he’s being spoken to. Dean gets to come first, no exceptions. Prolonged eye contact with him isn’t advisable, and coming on Dean is strictly out of bounds. But Castiel’s always had a bit of trouble with the rules. Worst case scenario, Dean will smack him around after, or not let him finish.

On some occasions, Dean will let him watch when there’s someone else there, when Dean’s fucking some broad. Castiel prefers it when it’s just him and Dean though, when Dean isn’t parading some partner in front of him, showing Cas exactly what he can’t have anymore.

Right now it’s just Dean. Castiel let’s a lazy smile spread across his face as the man leans back and undoes his belt buckle. They’d been trying to discuss strategy on an upcoming raid, but a long lull in conversation seemed to give Dean this direction.

He unbuckles his belt, raising an eyebrow at Cas. It's not a question, but Dean telling him that this is where he's going. Castiel could leave, but they both know he won't. The pills he took are starting to lull him, and he wants the warmth right now, even if it's just sitting by Dean like this and touching himself. He likes seeing Dean on display for him, a selfishness. He likes the bit of attention he gets back for it.

Dean strokes up his shaft and gives his lip a hard bite. Cas takes another swig of their shared bottle of whiskey before opening his own pants up. Dean looks up at him as he pulls out his cock, disinterested. But he looks. Cas remembers when he used to do this without Dean knowing, back before he’d ever accepted that he was allowed to want this. But Dean doesn’t touch himself the same way, and Castiel doesn’t look at him the same way. But it’s something.

Dean smears the first drops precome across the head of his cock with his thumb; Cas licks his lips as he watches. Dean looks at him and laughs, “Wanna taste?”

Cas risks looking up at him, “Yeah,” he grins back.

“Bet you fucking would,” Dean growls, giving his dick a smooth tug, “Hear you're the resident whore these days.”

“Guess I am,” Castiel spreads his legs wide and tilts his head back, an invitation, “Care to see what all the talk’s about?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Castiel snaps his legs back together. He watches Dean pulling at his cock. He want Dean to touch him like that again, or let Cas touch him. This isn’t enough. It never is. He'll take it every chance he get's but it never feels like enough. He never feels enough these days. “You think I'd fucking want a broken angel like you?”

Castiel closes his eyes and tries for only sensation past Dean’s words.

“And you’re still fucking getting off, aren't you?” It didn't take too long until Dean got bored torturing prisoners, but he couldn’t leave any marks on Castiel, so this was all the angel had to give. Dean was always mouthy in bed with him, this wasn't much different. It hurt, but pain could feel good sometimes. If Dean likes doing this to him, he can. God save his broken soul, he is. Dean’s still jerking himself, he still wants Cas on some level. Even if it is to scream at, or to knock around. This is what Cas can do to make Dean something close to happy.

“Such a filthy fucking cumwhore, Cas. You’d just give yourself to anyone. Men, women, they all get a turn riding the pretty little angel, don’t they?” Dean forms a fist and starts to fuck into it, Castiel opens his legs again in response, rubbing his own leaking erection. He really will let anyone in, there's no reason not to anymore. Cas will take pleasure where he can find it, but Dean is his favorite, no matter how he can get it. It's something from a better time, and he'll indulge as much as he's allowed. Castiel's cock gives a twitch when he meets Dean's eye.

This is what gets Dean off, seeing Castiel still so needy for him, no matter how much he hurts him. Dean is in control here, he could tell Castiel to renounce God, or booze and weed or whatever else is keeping him put together for the time being. He could make Castiel take his cock until the angel bled.

But that’s not what Dean wants. Every time he looks at Cas, or sees the reverent way Cas looks back, it’s just a reminder of how far he fell, how bad he fucked up. He can’t let Castiel go, tell him to never come back. He’s too selfish. But he can keep him at arms length, and enjoy playing with the ex-angel to his own desires. And what he desires these days is to hurt the little fuckup as much as he can without driving it so far Cas doesn’t come back.

Dean rubs his legs, loving that way Castiel watches the movement. His angel. “They don't really want you Cas, though, they just wanna fuck. Nobody wants you. Not them, not me, no heaven. You can't fix a damn thing, you can't even save yourself. All you are anymore is a cock and hole and a mouth.”

Castiel hates this part. Dean didn’t use to talk like this during their encounters, didn’t try to hurt. It was never tender lovemaking, but it was something. Something where Cas could still touch and be touched back, where Dean would make awkward conversation afterwards, where they might still smile against each other. Later Dean would get worse, talking filth into his ear and scraping skin until it bled. He'd give twisted laughs and fuck harder after Castiel begged him to stop.

Right now Dean doesn't smile. Not even a malicious grin, which was good, Cas supposes. He just licks his palm before forming a fist to fuck into. It’s a nice wide hole with his hand, Dean’s thick. Cas likes that about him. It felt good in his hands, better in his mouth or ass. Maybe that's what Dean's thinking about. Probably not.

“You're just so fucked up, Cas. You’ll come in here to watch me jack off. No sex, no love; I'm not going to give you anything you don't deserve.” Dean says without emotion, “You know I'm not gonna touch something like you. A dirty, broken angel. Not even that, you're no angel, not even a fallen one. Just a little fucktoy. Why don't you just call up one of your little fuckbuddies? They'll open you up and fill your slutty hole. But you sit there and touch yourself instead. You like pretending I still want you? You need me that bad?”

Castiel reaches back to the bottle, trying to drink enough to mess with the pill he’d taken. He wants to be some place, some place where none of this matter. Not the end of the world. Not Dean’s words and hatred. Not his own failures. Not the sex, or the drugs, or any of it. Nothing except the way he feels when he watches Dean come apart by his own touch. 

 He knows somewhere that Dean doesn't mean it, that it’s just the man projecting his own insecurities or maybe trying to evoke anger out of Cas. If the aim is the former, it’s fruitless; what Cas can't find a way to numb these days, he suppresses. He used to play games with Dean sometimes, where they'd push each other til one of them snaps. Around everyone else, he and Dean remain distant, but talk well enough, they can both set aside themselves to be good soldiers, like always. But this isn't either of those. If he snaps, Dean will break him. And how many times, how many ways can he be broken before he's no good anymore. 

On that he reaches for another drink. Dean snatches the bottle before he can get to it. Dean doesn't like the way Castiel deals with his problems. Cas himself isn't a big damn fan of Dean’s solutions these days. He hates how Cas tries to drown the world out. He likes to hone in on all it's horror. Maybe Dean says it's just what needs to be done, but he loves torturing. He's just another part of all the hell going on these days. 

He told Dean that once. The deep scores cut along his back remind him to not say things like that. They also remind him that Dean's just as he first laid eyes on. He didn't tell Dean that.

“It’s not like you don’t have _fuckbuddies_ of your own, Dean.” Castiel scowls, still pumping at his own cock. He gets to have his own little releases. “Why isn’t some woman in here right now, sucking you off? You're the hero around here, the king. You could have anyone. But I guess you’d rather just give it to yourself. You’d rather me watch. Is that what you like? Does it get you off to know that angels are still watching over you? You want this as bad as me.”

Dean thinks about hitting him, he can tell. Dean rubs yanks his cock into the tight form of his hands, lurching forward a small bit.

"You’re fucking lucky I even let you do this. You don’t deserve it.”

"I don't. Why do you do let me have it then?"

"Maybe I’m just feeling generous."

 "You don't give me anything I don't deserve."

"Can you shut up so I can actually enjoy this?”

"Didn't answer me."

"Cas."

“Always some woman, never another man. Why is that Dean? You seemed to enjoy me enough for a while.”

Dean drops his cock and slaps Castiel across the face. Castiel leans toward the other man, baring his neck and spreading his legs. An invitation. Dean won’t take it, not at the moment. They’re at a standstill. Dean won't ever take Cas, not anymore. If he really wants to be fucked, he has to make Dean do it to him. 

Castiel knows how this could go, how it has gone before. He could move himself to Dean, running hands along the man’s thighs. Maybe they’d be trembling; in arousal, anticipation, maybe even fear. He was powerful, once. Cas would be sitting in Dean’s lap then. He’d just put his mouth right up by Dean’s ear, grin, and whisper, “Faggot.” Dean would stand and let Cas fall to the floor, before pulling him back up by his hair. Fists, kicks, slaps, grabs: Dean would actually touch him. Maybe he’d break the bottle over Castiel’s skull, or shove him against the wall over and over until he bled. And once that was done, Dean would press his angel’s face to the floor so they didn't have to look at eachother. It'd be slow, it always was. He'd hurt Castiel, deep and forceful. But he'd take his time fucking. Dean would cry when he came. Cas would when he was cleaning it out later.

Dean placed the bourbon back between the two of them. A peace offering of sorts.

He drops his eyes back down to his length, done troubling himself with Castiel. One hand is back, rubbing at the back of his own head. The other hand is jerking in time with the roll of his hips, more desperate than before. Dean lets the room, let's Cas, let's everything fade for a moment and simply  _feels._  

Castiel drinks it in. For a moment, Dean is at peace, loving himself. Almost as if innocence could exist in this act, done by a man as such, during these horrible times. He isn't getting pleasure from hurting Castiel, nor torturing others or harming himself. It’s the only glance he get’s these days of Dean as he once was. It’s wanton and needy, the way Dean fucks back into his hand. Castiel loves it. He knows the feel of those hands, how they grip just tight enough, how Dean lets his fingers massage tiny circles while pulling his length. His breathing is getting rougher and more ragged. Castiel’s eyes water; he needs Dean’s filthy, blessed touch so bad.

Dean’s eyes flicker up to Castiel’s prick, which is clumsily being jerked at; the fallen angel looking wrecked as Dean moves against himself. He’s in control here, Castiel is his. His wrecked little angel, desperate just to see Dean. He lets out a low, exaggerated groan, watching the way Cas’ hips stutter. His. Dean licks his lips, and tips his head back, letting his eyes fall shut. Castiel gives a gasp. Dean comes on his hand.

Castiel follows soon after: tracking the way muscles of Dean’s lower abs gyrate, the look he gets when he’s really lost in it, the strands of come spurting out from the dark head of his cock. Whoever’s Dean’s latest squeeze, they’re lucky. They get to feel him, touch him, taste him. But Castiel gets to watch. It’s something.

He wishes he could sit around and bask in the post-orgasm glow. His own, not Dean’s. Dean has already cleaned himself and is busying himself with his gun so he doesn’t have to pretend to acknowledge Cas. Castiel takes the cue and cleans his come off his hand and cock. He takes another fair swig of whiskey, figuring Dean isn’t in the mood to argue on it. He walks over in front of the door, letting the moment linger a little longer. Castiel stares at the back of his head, wanting him to turn around.

Maybe Dean would smile at him, pull him over for a kiss. He’d stay the night, they’d hold each other, fuck till they were too tired to move, and then make tender love again in the morning. And maybe the war will end, demons will die off, and heaven will open up again. Maybe he’ll stop drinking and injecting and smoking and popping pills or whatever else he can manage. It’s hard to decide what’s most likely.

“Need something, Cas?”

“Nothing you can give me.”

The moment is gone, he leaves.


End file.
